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In 1972, left-wing intellectual film critic Uwe Nettelbeck suggested to Anthony Moore that he might write some straight songs (relatively speaking), which in turn prompted Moore to invite his old schoolfriend Peter Blegvad over to Hamburg to form the band Slapp Happy.

Dagmar Krause, a young singer from Hamburg and Moore‘s girlfriend, joined them both on their trip to Wümme to record what was to become this album, Sort of, using Faust as their rhythm section. In honour of this album ́s 50th anniversary the album will get a nicely remastered reissue with the newly founded Week–End Records –the fetsival‘s inhouse label who managed to get the band together for a final reunion shows in November of 2016 and Spring of 2017.

2025 Repress

Searchlight Moonbeam is the new narrative compilation from Time Is Away (Jack Rollo and Elaine Tierney) whose eponymous monthly NTS Radio shows, tinctured fusions of fugitive sounds and reverie-inducing archival speech, have won them an ardent following. It follows from the London-based duo’s Ballads, a remarkable driftwerk released on A Colourful Storm in 2022.


Searchlight Moonbeam is an autumnal dreamscape, intimate and vespertine, pensive and irresolute. An imagined community where differences drop off and resonances emerge – between Maher Shalal Hash Baz affiliates Kasumi Trio, Taiwanese score composer Chen Ming Chang whose ‘Rainwater’ (written for Hou Hsiao-Hsien’s 1986 film Dust In The Wind) is exquisitely heartbroken, and the plangent improvisations of self-taught French pianist Delphine Dora.


Revelations are frequent: the bedsit isolationism of Bo Harwood and John Cassavetes’ ‘No One Around to Hear It’ (from The Killing of a Chinese Bookie); the narked minimalism of Klang (an early 2000s band formed by ex-Elastica guitarist and featuring prize-winning experimental novelist Isabel Waidner on bass); the etude-grooves and echoic wobble of below-the-radar French avant-gardists Omertà ; the beautiful, plaintively dubby ‘Is It You?’ by Slapp Happy; a psych-tinged reimagining of PiL’s ‘Poptones’ by Simon Fisher Turner (one half of Deux Filles, and here, recording for él as The King of Luxembourg) that's as perverse as the cover of Throbbing Gristle’s 20 Jazz Funk Greats.


Searchlight Moonbeam is the musical analog of an Italo Calvino novel or a medieval fable. Associative, intuitive, borderless. Emotional and mysterious. Endowed with the tactility of Braille. A private language that is both unknowable and understood. It is a record of the seasons, for the seasons.

2023 marks the tenth anniversary of Time Is Away’s first broadcast. Featuring an evocative essay by writer Jeremy Atherton Lin and disarming cover art by Penny Davenport, Searchlight Moonbeam showcases Rollo and Tierney’s still-unrivalled talent for gloaming melodies, disques du crépuscule, ensorcelled storytelling.

On Beacon Hill: at twilight we find Anthony Moore, roots winding backwards to the halcyon days of Slapp Happy and the "70s progressive art rock scene, at guitar and piano. With the atmospheres and accompaniments of AKA & Friends, he breathes infernal new life into songs from his six decades of multivarious music making. This new delivery system is unto a séance, a communal incantation, twining Anthony"s avant and pop traditions together in a darkly radiant coil of folky chamber music; a rope to lower the listener through cobwebs and murk, unveiling new life beneath Anthony"s mad old lines. AKA are Anthony Moore, Keith Rodway and Amanda Thompson. A pagan family of sound worshipers hailing from that unholiest of all places: Hastings UK, home of Crowley and Turing. Like their sinister forbears in that infamous tradition, this latest trinity shares a passion for subverting pattern and number, factoring unlikely permutations arising from sea and horizon, greensward, the southerly aspect, and the planisphere as half-world. Their equatorial shore speaks of a planet of water and earth, fire and air. AKA"s humble tools of choice for this endeavor are guitar, piano, organ, synthesizer and vocals. The Friends of AKA are Tullis Rennie, trombone and electronics; Olie Brice, double bass; Richard Moore, violin; and Haydn Ackerley, guitar. They too navigate the shoreline of the south coast, haunt the same taverns and regularly play together in whatever combinations fit the bill. Leaving the drums (and their drummer) at home to realize anew these dreamladen songs, AKA & Friends ensure that the notes fall around the beat and not on it, so as to define the pulse with absence. As such, time is liberated, prised free from the merciless clock; a rhythm of waves, passing through a steady-state universe of no beginnings and no endings. Discontinuities are dissolved, all is transition.

Anthony"s post-Slapp Happy output, for years an underrated-to-outright unknown quantity, achieves a new dimensional plane with this third archival release from his personal tape library. Home of the Demo triangulates upon the art-pop qualities found in his previously unreleased 1976 LP OUT, and "79"s new wave-adjacent Flying Doesn"t Help, finding Anthony"s early/mid-80s home recordings drifting whimsically in and out of the actual mainstream.

Aesthetically, Ed Schrader’s Music Beat hates to tread water. At the same time, the Baltimore-based two-piece of vocalist Ed Schrader and bassist Devlin Rice won’t force their songs to fit a preconceived style. “The next album’s always gotta be different from the last one. We’re different people from record to record. So, writing authentically to ourselves will always bring our work to a place that we haven’t been to yet,” Rice said. Schrader added, “We’re terrified of turning into AC/DC. We never want to be married to one scene or time or sound. We want to be the Boba Fett of bands! Constantly altering the way in which we make records has been pretty key in that process.”
For Orchestra Hits, the band’s latest, that alteration was welcoming longtime musical comrade Dylan Going into the fold as a co-writer and co-producer. A songwriter in his own right, a guitar sideman for ESMB on their last two tours, and a collaborator with Rice in the noise riffage band Mandate, Going had both a unique vision and an intimate familiarity with the ESMB vibe.
“Dylan came to every show we’ve ever played in New York—no matter how weird it was,” Schrader said. “He’d be standing there ready to move an amp or feed us barbecued cactus after the gig and toss on some Golden Girls so we could decompress. It felt like family as soon as we began working, but I honestly had no idea how damn good he was at tossing out these hooks.”
According to Schrader, the songs “just poured out of us” over the course of a highly caffeinated three-day weekend in a tiny room in Devlin’s house while his cat, Sandy Goose, screamed continually. “It was like three kids hiding from the world to get into some lovely mischief,” they said. The lack of external pressure in the process gives Orchestra Hits an almost paradoxical vibe. For all of the album’s layers, that mix live and sequenced instruments, it never loses the raw energy of a small handful of friends in the same room plugging in, cranking up, and playing until they pass out.
Lyrically, the album finds Schrader, now 45, meditating on experiences in their youth to make sense of the present moment. “We are not into the garden,” Schrader wails on the relentless “Roman Candle,” a song about the sad debacle of Woodstock ’99, and a direct response to Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock,” a utopian ode to hippie idealism. A 19-year-old Schrader, having snuck into Woodstock ’99 through a hole in the fence, was there the night members of the crowd used candles intended for a vigil for victims of the Columbine High School massacre to set fires all over the grounds. Even before the fires, Schrader remembered feeling disconnected from the music, the nostalgic cash grab, and the meatheads in the crowd. After watching a press tower collapse, they boarded a random shuttle bus and were dropped off near a Denny’s. “It was a far cry from the Garden of Eden,” Schrader said. “That experience defined what I didn’t want to be a part of, and yet America is more like Woodstock ’99 than ever.”
With percolating synthesizer arpeggios, and climbing bass grooves, “IDKS” is the album’s dance-floor slapper. “’IDKS’ is a funny one,” Schrader said. “We already had a pretty satisfying suite of songs when Dylan was packing up to head back to New York, but he missed the train because of a freak snowstorm. Realizing he’d be stuck in town another day, he says to me, ‘Here’s this other weird thing I have.’ It was ‘IDKS.’ The hooks were so good I felt like Homer Simpson at a free donut convention. I just dove right in, and we cranked that baby out in like 20 minutes.”
Lyrically, “IDKS” is a letter from the true self to public-facing self. “It’s an angry song,” Schrader said. “Because the public-facing self is always looking for an easy escape, but it forces the true self into a cage. I honestly thought my lyrics were corny and was about to change them, but Dylan was digging it just the way it was. So that’s what you hear.”
With the soaring “Daylight Commander,” the band went against all of their musty-basement-bred instincts. “I went full High School Musical with the vocals,” Schrader said. “At first it felt almost embarrassing, but I remember reading somewhere that Bowie recommended always floating a little bit above your comfort zone, and that’s what we did here.” The song is part exercise in absurdity and part pop Trojan horse. “If ever we had a ‘Shiny Happy People’ moment, I guess this is it,” Schrader said.

The 1990 debut album from Pale Saints, The Comforts of Madness, is an outstanding record that owed as much to post-punk and L.A."s Paisley Underground scene than it did to shoegaze. The Sunday Times called it "an unintended indie manifesto: music that is at once wayward and concise, dissonant and beautiful." Shortly after its release and in need of a second live guitarist, Lush founding member Meriel Barham joined the Leeds trio of Ian Masters, Graeme Naysmith and Chris Cooper, bringing a new dynamic to the band. Having previously worked well with producer Hugh Jones (Echo & The Bunnyman, Modern English, The Sound), he did a brilliant job recording their second album, In Ribbons (1992), despite some studio tensions. Brooklyn Vegan said in a recent celebration of the album that it was the "push and pull between Masters" outsider tendencies and (the rest"s) commercial interests that makes In Ribbons so good. If some of the wild, ragged edges of Comforts of Madness have been smoothed off, the album makes up for it with scope and beauty. And there"s still no shortage of weird." Missing its original release date last year due to Covid delays and a production plant in meltdown, In Ribbons is finally getting the 30th Anniversary celebration it deserves with a special double LP / CD release - the first disc being the UK version of the album, the second a bonus disc of never before heard demos (including their first attempt at Slapp Happy"s "Blue Flower" and Ian"s 4 track recording of "Kinky Love") and two brass band versions by The Tintwistle Band.

The 1990 debut album from Pale Saints, The Comforts of Madness, is an outstanding record that owed as much to post-punk and L.A."s Paisley Underground scene than it did to shoegaze. The Sunday Times called it "an unintended indie manifesto: music that is at once wayward and concise, dissonant and beautiful." Shortly after its release and in need of a second live guitarist, Lush founding member Meriel Barham joined the Leeds trio of Ian Masters, Graeme Naysmith and Chris Cooper, bringing a new dynamic to the band. Having previously worked well with producer Hugh Jones (Echo & The Bunnyman, Modern English, The Sound), he did a brilliant job recording their second album, In Ribbons (1992), despite some studio tensions. Brooklyn Vegan said in a recent celebration of the album that it was the "push and pull between Masters" outsider tendencies and (the rest"s) commercial interests that makes In Ribbons so good. If some of the wild, ragged edges of Comforts of Madness have been smoothed off, the album makes up for it with scope and beauty. And there"s still no shortage of weird." Missing its original release date last year due to Covid delays and a production plant in meltdown, In Ribbons is finally getting the 30th Anniversary celebration it deserves with a special double LP / CD release - the first disc being the UK version of the album, the second a bonus disc of never before heard demos (including their first attempt at Slapp Happy"s "Blue Flower" and Ian"s 4 track recording of "Kinky Love") and two brass band versions by The Tintwistle Band.

Rare 1986 Funk/Soul From Alabama.

Originally released as a private pressed cassette tape only.

First Time On Vinyl.

Released in collaboration with the Numero Group.

180g BLACK vinyl limited to 500 copies w/obi strip. Non-Returnable.

Armed with little more than his Peavey T-60 guitar and a Jumbo Fuzz pedal, Errol Stubbs and his bar-band cohorts cranked out a self-released tape of funked-up disco soul in 1986. With no label or distribution to speak of, Errol would simply put on his best suit and sell the cassettes by hand. The tape languished into obscurity…until now!

The story of Errol Stubbs begins in Birmingham, Alabama in 1959. The youngest of five, he was surrounded by music as a child–his aunt taught piano at Daniel Payne College while his older brother, Avery Beavers, was an accomplished jazz trumpeter. Under the guidance of Avery, Errol started playing trumpet at the age of nine, though he gravitated toward songwriting and quickly picked up the guitar. Inspired by blues greats the likes of Albert King, Buddy Guy, and Little Milton, 12-year-old Errol began mimicking the sounds that filled southern airwaves. As a teenager, he played at barbecues, fish fries, and dive bars across the Magic City. After a brief stint at Jefferson State studying music, Errol’s passion for songwriting beckoned him away from the classroom.

Stubbs bounced around bar bands before settling on a live lineup and saving enough dough to take his vision to the recording studio. Over the course of two days, his well-rehearsed band recorded Turning it Out mostly live to tape at the Sound Of Birmingham Studio. Located on Birmingham’s east side, the state-of-the-art studio kept the lights on by recording commercial jingles but was more than happy to open their doors to local talent.

Taking notes from guitar god Ernie Isley and funk legend Rick James, the resulting recordings are drenched in cosmic phaser-fuzz guitar work, slapping bass lines, and sexual disco innuendos. Big brother Avery lends a hand on Clavinet for “Sweat,” while studio owner/engineer Don Mosley adds a tasteful dose of Moog synthesizer across a handful of cuts.

Soon after the Sound Of Birmingham sessions, Errol released the private pressed EP “Dancin’ Fancy,” b/w “Spaced Out On Your Love,” the latter of which was featured on Numero Group’s 2019 compilation Visible and Invisible Persons Distributed In Space.

The seven-song cassette Turning It Out was sold in local record stores and from night club stages, but only a few copies made their way out of Birmingham.

40-plus years since its original release, the pop-punk-new wave inventions of Anthony
Moore’s ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’ are freshly remastered, blasting the sparkling, angular
sounds into today with perfect vitality.
 After spending the early years of the 1970s making experimental music first as a solo
artist, then with Slapp Happy and Henry Cow, 1976’s ‘OUT’ sessions had reinvigorated
Anthony’s youthful love of the naive pop melodies of pop radio, the undeniable excitement
of songs. While ‘OUT’ ultimately went unreleased at the time, the iconoclasm clouding the
late ’70s air was addictive and transformative for Anthony. England seemed to be roiled
as violently as it had been in counter-cultural days a decade earlier; the UK pop charts
breathlessly reflected the changing spectrum with equal parts aging hippie and prog
delicacies alongside new ascendant sounds: rough-hewn pub and punk rock, plus dub
reggae and disco and ska and Stiff and Krautrock. This proved to be an ideal environment
for Anthony to make records by exploring, as he puts it, the “deep connection between
minimalism, repetition, working with tape and celluloid and forming the modules of a
three-minute pop song.”
 Caught up in a no-holds-barred era, Anthony was more than happy to play the out-of-hishead madman, raving through outrageous exchanges with the press, while ‘Judy Get
Down’ received Single Of The Week honours from the NME (with review penned by Brian
Eno). Represented by Blackhill Enterprises, Anthony did production work throughout
1978-1979, on Kevin Ayers’ ‘Rainbow Takeaway’, Manfred Mann’s Earth Band’s ‘Angel
Station’ and the first This Heat album, meanwhile cutting his own songs on a dead time
deal at Workhouse Studio with engineer / producer Laurie Latham. Through the wee
hours of countless nights, the two pieced together ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’, with a little help
from friends (an inspired bunch, including Bob Shilling, Charles Hayward, Chris Slade,
Robert Vogel, Festus, Matt Irving, Sam Harley, Bernie Clark, Edwin Cross and Martine
Moore on the telephone).
 Building upon the axis of pop and experimental impulses that distinguished ‘OUT’, and
informed further by the raw sensibilities exploding everywhere, ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’
blasts out of the speakers with its own unique blend of sophistication and aggression,
Anthony’s keyboard flashes between arpeggiations and outright stabs among the noise of
slicing guitars, funk basslines and the reverbed blare of the drumkit. Opening with
Anthony’s greatest hit, ‘Judy Get Down’, and containing a noise-laden remake of the
Slapp Happy/Henry Cow number, ‘War’, among other delightful sweet-and-salty
confections, ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’ never stops moving, fuelled with raw outrage and dark
satirical intent, churning with the energy of next-gen types like Tubeway Army and DEVO,
while shimmering with the elegance of the still-challenging old guard types, like Cale and
Bowie.
 Clearly, ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’ was steeped in the time, and the original release reflected a
deep mistrust of the corporation mindset. Information was a dubious concept, and
connections to any recognizable organization were seen as untrustworthy, so facts like
musician credits were left out of the package, and even Anthony’s name was altered (he
was credited as A. More on the album and Tony More on a single release). The label
name QUANGO was conceptual as well, standing for ‘Quasi Autonomous NonGovernmental Organization’; each record was sealed with red tape that the listener was
required to cut through in order to get to the music. Rather than recreate the conditions of
the original release of ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’, this reissue instead embraces the changed
environment of the current time and place: instead of no credits, now they are complete,
with Anthony’s full name restored and even the artwork subtly ‘relocated’ to reflect a new
set of relationships. All of which brings the forward-looking sounds of ‘Flying Doesn’t Help’
into the more independent-minded 21st Century syntax where it belongs.

This journey, this slowly drifting sonic meditation, is an 'inner soundscape', a dialogue between the senses, the conscience and the world, inside / outside, interconnected. Like waking up from a long dream, and being stuck into its echo. The April Sessions immerges the listener into a drone-ish universe, full of random acousmatic events, inner monologues and a vast and unwritten subjective map to be drawn.

The April Sessions has been living in a seedy hotel in Brussels for a few months. She listens to the sparse traffic outside her window, locked in and locked down. 'Everything is constructed', she says to herself, 'even the sound of a solitary aircraft at 25,000 feet traverses the sky no further out than the inside of my skull'. Other weird sonic phenomena criss-cross the inner cosmos of her brain and streak across her private sky like comets. And then there is the unshakeable presence of that inner monologue, known to her variously as the Tacit Dictator, the Subvocaliser and, nightmarishly enough, the voice of the Merlucid Hake. (Anthony Moore, St Leonards, 10th of March 2021)

Anthony Moore, Dirk Specht and Tobias Grewenig have known each other and worked together since the early 2000s. They have collectively participated in a number of projects including live performances and recordings. In 2016, as part of The Missing Present Band, they released the live LP 'The Present Is Missing' on A-Musik. The following year they released 'Ore Talks', a double LP, realised in collaboration with Therapeutische Hörgruppe Köln.

Anthony Moore was born in 1948, founded the band Slapp Happy (circa 1972) with Peter Blegvad and Dagmar Krause, then worked alongside a.o. Fred Frith and Tim Hodgkinson in the unclassifiable band Henry Cow. He released several solo albums, composed soundtracks for experimental movies. His path also crossed Kevin Ayers's, Pink Floyd's, Richard Wright's. He was appointed professor for research into sound and music in the context of new media at the Academy of Media Arts in Cologne, Germany. He still continues to write and perform.

Dirk Specht is a sound artist, musician and curator. He studied architecture and media art and is active in the fields of sound works for choreography, radio drama, sound art, film and video art soundtracks. He published releases with several bands and projects. He has been an assistant for research into sound from 2011 to 2016 at the Academy of Media Arts in Cologne, and is a founding member of Therapeutische Hörgruppe Köln.

Tobias Grewenig studied at the Academy of Media Arts in Cologne. He primarily deals with non-linearity in his audiovisual installative works and performances, including projects with the artist group 'Therapeutische Hörgruppe Köln', the ensemble 'The Knob, The Finger & The It' and the improvisation collective "Frequenzwechsel". The conception and development of electronic instruments and code is a key component of his artistic work. He lives and works in Cologne.

Leonid Nevermind is back with a new sophisticated detroit house EP. 4 groovy soulful tracks with storytelling titles, hazy vocal elements, slapping funky basslines and bluesy piano patterns enswathing with mysterious chords and thrilling lucid melodies.

Feedback:
Anton Zap: Independent sound, another great record by Leo!
Move D: Very nice! Really cool!
DJ QU: Super nice EP. Feeling it!
Delta Funktionen: High-quality fresh stuff! Very happy to hear it!
Laurent Garnier: Many thanks for the great release. I love the mood of
the 4 tracks very much.
Duplex: This EP is a gem!
Brendon Moeller:´Inner Hub´ and ´Poetry of the Heart´ for me! Dope.
Marco Shuttle: Nice sound, ´Inner Hub´ is the one I like best :)
John Heckle: This is great, liking all 4 of these, thanks.
Or:la: Sounding nice
Dubbyman: It sounds powerful and nothing conventional!
Nocow: Good sound, go on!
Dasha Redkina: Good music
Jelly Roll Soul: "Poetry Of The Heart" is great!
André Kronert: it's a very nice record. Love it

Chicago Basement Trax returns with an homage to the king of the raw himself Ron Hardy. Those that experienced Ron Hardy first hand will tell you there was a vibe like no other. A minimal space with strobe lights and a bangin system. If you put your hands on an EQ or isolator as a DJ thank Ron as being an innovator of this creative style of frequency manipulation. Not only did Ron drop the bass, he dropped whole songs to expose the beautiful crispy hi hats, vocals and then romanced you with the piano before slapping your whole body with the beat. This ep does it's job to take you there, just close your eyes and blast off!